Bring Me Home My Consulting Detective
by Cotton Candy Walrus
Summary: Sherlock is missing, kidnapped actually. Right from under John's nose. What lengths will he go to return his flat mate home safely? Will he ever be able to sleep again? He may just be a doctor, but that won't stop Dr. John H. Watson. Rating may change to T in the future.
1. Chapter 1

Bring Me Home My Consulting Detective

Sherlock is missing, kidnapped actually. Right from under John's nose. What lengths will he go to return his flat mate home safely? Will he ever be able to sleep again? He may just be a doctor, but that won't stop Dr. John H. Watson.

**Author's Note: This happens to be my first Sherlock fic. Please bare with me, I am only up to the second season which I have yet to start watching. I apologize for any future delays since I have a habit of not finishing what I start. I would love to hear what you have to say, if you have any corrections, comments, concerns, etc. please just PM me or leave it with or in your Review. Let me know if this is even worth finishing. Oh and enjoy! **

221b Baker St. was oddly quiet. Almost every day for the year John Watson had been living here, he was rudely awakened by one thing or another. Whether it be a violin played badly from down stairs or Sherlock crying out his name, he never seemed to be able to just enjoy his slumber peacefully. But today, there was no sign of any distractions. From his night stand, he grabbed the digital alarm clock that read 10:46am. With wide eyes he shot out of bed.

"Sherlock? Sherlock? Why didn't you wake me? Sherlock?" John shouted through the halls of the flat, eventually attracting the attention of Ms. Hudson.

"Mrs. Hudson, have you happen to see Sherlock? I can't seem to find him."

"No I can't say I have, dear. Maybe he just went out. You know how he gets."

"Yes, I bet he just went out" he didn't believe it for a second. Sherlock was practically incapable of going out alone. 'it's too boring' he says. Heaven forbid that man be bored. The ex-army doctor pulled his phone from his pajama pocket.

**Where are you? If you are out, plz pick up some milk. JW **

He didn't want to sound all that concerned. It was a logical assumption to believe he had just gone out, it was almost noon after all. And he would never hear the end of it from the consulting detective if he were to panic for no good reason. Although, his disappearance had raised a red flag for him. It was a natural instinct for him to believe the worst.

_I can't well go find him in my pajamas. I'll start there._ He thought to himself. The door to Sherlock's room was open as he walked by. Upon further inspection, he found that the window had been left open as well. _Now why would he leave open the window? _The awful feeling in the pit of John's stomach was growing with each oddity of his already strange morning. He pulled his phone out yet again.

**Is Sherlock with you? He isn't at the flat and won't answer my texts. JW **

This one went out to Lestrade, Mycroft, Molly and anyone else John knew that may know his flat mates current whereabouts. It wasn't the first time he has lost the man, but something was different about it this time. Something that twisted his insides. _What if he followed one again? Why is it he is so bloody proud? What waltzed right into their trap like A Study in Pink? _There were too many questions, too many variables. He went in his room to change his cloths.

From the floor, his discarded pajama bottoms vibrated. He reach inside and pulled out his blinking cell. **Messages from Mycroft, Lestrade, and Two others. **John's heart sank. _Please for god's sake let him be out. _

One message after another, **No, perhaps he is out solving murder. MH; No, sorry; Haven't seen him in days; He isn't with me, meet me at New Scotland Yard, we'll find him;**

Stuffing the device back into his pocket he jogged out onto to Baker St. and hailed a cab.

**Author's Note: Hope you liked it, please review. Your input is greatly appreciated. Without reviews, this story may be dead and although that would make Sherlock happy, it would make me sort of sad. Thank you for reading **


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Hello reader****㈳5. The last chapter was very popular, so in light of my current popularity among the amazing Sherlock fandom, I have updated again. The action come soon in the next couple of chapters so just stick around. As always reviews, corrections, suggestions etc. are always welcome! Enjoy.**

"Where to?" the middle aged poorly groomed cabbie asked.

"New Scotland Yard" John replied distracted. He pulled out his phone again, praying it would read, **Message from Sherlock, **but no matter how many times he would check the darn thing, it never seem to tone down his anxiety. It didn't help that he was the only one in the back seat. Since he moved into the prime spot in the center of London after getting home from the war, he was constantly in the company of the detective. This could very well be the first time in months that he actually sat in a cab alone. _Lestrade won't give up until he is found. We'll find him. _John tried to reassure himself, but it wasn't at all helping.

The taxi pulled to an abrupt stop, yanking John from his thoughts. He paid the driver and made his way to the large building, limping just a bit. The lobby was crowded, but Lestade was waiting by the door for the arrival of Dr. Watson.

"John, what happened?"

"I don't know, I woke up this morning and he wasn't in the flat. His window was open. I tried his cell but he didn't respond."

"Have you checked the house for signs of break in?"

"I was asleep upstairs, I think I would know if my flat were being broke into!"

"Not always, I'll send a team over to investigate. In the meantime, fill out a missing persons report so that I can legally handle his case." Lestrade briskly walked to the elevator leaving John alone in the lobby.

"How can I help you, sir" the receptionist behind the desk asked.

"I need to report a missing person." John didn't know how many times he had said that in his life, so many people he had knew, missing, dead. That was the thing about those dark days of war, they haunted you for the rest of your life. This time though, it seemed all too real, more real even than the dozens of MIAs he had seen or heard. This time it was his flat-mate, his friend. And this time he wouldn't just stand by, he would find Sherlock even if he had to do it alone.

"Name…Sir, I need the name…Sir?" the receptionist worked hard to capture the blogger's attention.

"Yes, um, what was it?"

"I need the missing person's name."

"Holmes, um Sherlock Holmes."

Lestade stormed into his packed office, his loud stomping had attracted an audience, the whole department. "Everyone report to my office" he barked at the group.

"We have a bit of a situation. Sherlock Holmes has been pronounced missing."

"Wait, the freak got himself lost?" Agent Donovan was having too much fun with the news.

"Excuse me Detective Inspector, but that doesn't really seem to fit our jurisdiction." There was no way Anderson was going to chase that evidence-tampering, full of himself psychopath all around the city just because he was bored.

"He isn't lost. We assume he was abducted. The case has been filed, and there is a possibility of his death. It's our jurisdiction now. I want Anderson and agent Donovan to put together a forensics team quickly. We will check the flat for evidence and then work our way from there." Lestade exited the room.

"I have my forensics team set, you can ride with me over there."

**Author's Note: hope you liked it. Thanks for reading. I would love to hear from all you lovely people out there. Please, the time you take to review this story is greatly appreciated and a special thanks to those who followed, favorited, and reviewed already. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: hi guys! I have heard from so many amazing people, thank you. For those who it may concern I am thinking about also trying my hand at another Sherlock fic soon, maybe even a Johnlock. And for those of you who read Supernatural, or Welcome to Night Vale, (found under radio dramas in misc) I may be publishing some new fanfic there too. Again thank you for clicking whatever button you clicked to find yourself here and enjoy.**

The flat inhabited by John Watson and Sherlock Holmes was filled with a full scale forensics team. It reminded the blogger of the many drug busts that have occurred since he moved in. There were men carting away things in small plastic bags and dusting for prints everywhere.

"Found this in the freaks bedroom" agent Donovan emerged from the stairwell holding a bag, inside a small piece of paper, presumably a note. John cringed every time she said that. _The man is missing, for god's sake, and she still carries on with that! _

"Let me see that" Lestrade held out his hand. "We must be dealing with a serial kidnapper, otherwise, why leave a note." He read the piece of evidence silently. "Has Sherlock taken any new cases lately, ones not recommended by me?"

"Yeah, actually. His brother dropped off the case file last night. Right there on the desk" he gestured to an oversized manila envelope, papers falling out of the open end where Sherlock had tried to stuff them back inside.

"Would you mind if we take this as evidence?"

"Yes, sure, if you think it will help us find him"

Lestrade ran his hand over his hair in frustration. His once clear desk was now an unorganized mess of papers. He put the bagged note up to the light. "Come on, there has to be something here that can help me."

**So this is the genius?**

**The one I was warned of,**

**My employer was so very wrong,**

**To say he would be a challenge for me.**

**Just a simple warning, **

**And he followed me right to his own cage.**

**Oh so this is the genius? **

**No use looking,**

**He will be dead before you even figure me out.**

It was a typed note. No signature. _Employer? Were they a hired kidnapper? An assassin? They wouldn't leave a note if he wasn't still alive. Oh god Sherlock, what did you get yourself into? _

The file collected from the flat was a national serial killer. No kidnapping, no notes, nothing that matches the description of Sherlock's kidnapper. _This is a case we would need Sherlock for. Why did he have to go and get himself snatched up? _

It was 4:30pm. The streets of London were loud with the normal hustle and bustle that a cold day ensues. John roamed around alone. He imagined how Sherlock would be talking about a case, accusing John of being stupid for not noticing something. He imagined his long black curls blowing in the whipping wind, and how his broad shoulders would scrunched close to his neck as he tried to burrow in his blue scarf. If anyone knew about his close attention to detail, they would talk. But it wasn't what they would assume. Sherlock, though overly proud, occasionally impertinent, and a bit of a know it all, was his best friend.

He made his way down Baker St., lost in his thoughts again. At the large metal door he stopped and reached into his coat pocket to find his keys. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a faint motion. Bolted to the ceiling of a building adjacent to Mrs. Hudson's flats was a surveillance camera. Pointed right at him. John stumbled to pull his phone from his jeans.

**There are cameras around the flat. They might have caught something. JW**

**Author's Note: thank you for reading. Hope you liked this chapter. I would like to thank my new Beta person Professor Haley, and watlocked for offering future assistance. Please review. I love to hear from you**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: hi guys****㈴2 so here is one of the cooler chapters, hopefully. I think so anyway. Wow, this story has been a big success. Thank you all for reviewing, following and favoriting. Enjoy**

"Surveillance cameras. Of course. Don't know why I didn't notice." Lestrade was pacing in his office occasionally throwing his arms in the air. "Anderson did you find anything else?" he couldn't just sit back and do nothing while the camera footage was retrieved.

"Yes actually, Detective Inspector," he pulled out the report sheet. "The kidnapper's finger prints were all over the place."

"Have you checked to see if they were in the system?"

"Yes, but there are no matches."

"Well than I guess we are back to square one." He sighed in disappointment.

"I'll keep looking" Anderson turned away. It took close to an hour for the short man to walk in the door.

"Sorry it took me so long. Didn't know how much of the footage to get. Here's 48 hours." He gently slammed the tape on the DI's desk.

"Thank you" he took it and slid it into the VCR in the corner of his office.

**Have the tape. Watching it now. Let you know if I find anything.**

_There was a loud screech as a van turned the corner. From it walked a man in a black coat. He stood at the door for several seconds. He bent over and picked at the lock. The door closed behind him softly as he went inside. Thirty minutes pass before it opens again. A very defeated looking Sherlock emerged, his hands bound behind him. His kidnapper locked back the flats and made his way towards the van, opening a door for Sherlock, then walking around to the driver's side. The van sped away._

John trusted Lestrade to do his job, but he had a hard time with the fact that the investigation had reach a point where John's assistance wasn't required. Maybe it was the feeling of uselessness, or the fact that Sherlock had almost hit the twenty four hour mark. He had been living with the brilliant consulting detective for a year and he still didn't understand his methods of deduction. If John were in Sherlock's place, he thought, than Sherlock would have solved the case by now and they would both be home, safe, eating dinner or watching the telly. But it wasn't the other way around.

A strange thought popped into John's inquiring mind. It was less of a thought and more of a word, a name really. Moriarty. He knew that his last encounter with him at the swimming pool, when he had enough explosives strapped to his chest to blow up a two story house, was not the last he would see or hear of the sinister man. What if his affectionate hatred towards the detective were enough to kidnap him. He had told them they were in his way, he had tried to kill them. Was this his way of taking them out?

**Author's Note: hope you liked it. Sorry this chapter was short. I will not be updating as frequent since my winter break ends today. Thank you all for your continued support. As always please review. I love to hear from you. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: hi guys. So I'm back, woo hoo. I hope you with like this chapter, as always I would like to thank all of my supporters and my friends who bear with me as I freak out over how many followers I have. I have also edited my page if anyone might be interested in checking that out. Enjoy**

It was dark. So dark in fact that John had a hard time seeing three feet in front of him. But that didn't stop him. He just kept on walking. He put his hands on the wall, (though he didn't know where the wall was), propelling himself on ward. He felt the cold linoleum floor under his thin house slippers and the drafty chill in the air through his pajamas, a sign that the heater in the building was inactive. The lights hung low from the ceiling and all the small windows on all the doors were cracked. John suspected it was a school or maybe an old office building.

At every squeaky old wooden door, he stopped, and kicked it open. One after another after another. All with no sign of the curly haired detective. John had no recollection of getting here even where here was but he knew, in the pit of his stomach, this is where Sherlock could be found. He came up to a worn set of stairs, the railing so aged he was afraid it even touch it. The second floor the same as the first, lines of doors. The blogger was persistent. He followed the rows and the doors. He checked every room, closet, and corner. Floor after floor. He reached the fourth.

His sore foot touched the top step and the blond hairs on his neck stood on end. "John! John please! Watson! Where is my blogger?!" his heart would have sank if it not been beating a hundred miles an hour. With the pain in his legs and his feet put aside he bolted down the hall. "John!" Sherlock kept on crying out.

"I'm coming just hold on!" he followed the sound of his flat mate's voice.

"John!?" the ex-army doctor burst through the door with brute like strength, panting and bent over. He took a good look around. There were no lights, just a dim glow coming from where the door had been.

"Sherlock" he whispered.

"I'm here, John" Dr. Watson made his way to the far corner of the room, his hands out stretched. Just before he thought he was in the wrong corner, his fingers felt the soft, yet mangled mess of hair that had to be Sherlock's head. John stepped back. A blinding light set on Sherlock, tied to a plastic chair "John"

"SHERLOCK!" John screamed as he sprang up in bed. He could still feel his head in his hands. His breathing was course, sweat dripped down his face. All he could see was the image of Sherlock, beaten and bloody, tied to the small plastic chair. His alarm clock read 4:23am. He rested his head back onto his sweat drenched pillow, not closing his eyes scared to even blink.

At four in the morning, the last place Anderson wanted to be was at the forensics lab, working on that stupid Sherlock Holmes's kidnapping case. It wasn't like he liked Sherlock, in fact the word he preferred was hate. But he saw Lestrade, after less than a day of him missing, losing his mind in attempt to find him. He had immense respect for the detective inspector, and watching him go at this was painful. _If this is what he is like after a day, I can't imagine what will be left of him after a week. _So Anderson stayed, seven hours after he should have been home, working on trying to find something new.

**Author's Note: I hope you liked it. I thought I would try to give a little insight to John's, much less impressive mind palace as well. And I thought Anderson, although a total butt sometimes needed some love, because nobody likes Anderson, except maybe Agent Donovan, but still. Please review, your insight, opinions and comments are always welcome and encouraged. Thanks for reading. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: hi-ya guys. Welcome back. Hope you liked my last chapter. I am thinking I might do the next chapter in Sherlock's POV. What do you think, good idea or wait until the end to tell his portion of the story? I guess the real question is do you want to work to figure out who kidnapped Sherlock, or do you want a lot of juicy details up front. Up to my readers. Please leave your choice with your reviews, or feel free to PM them to me. Your input is golden. Enjoy**

In John's hand was a photograph of Sherlock. He pinned it to the wooden board on the wall in the main living area of the flat. Alongside it were a map of London, a close up shot of the kidnapper from the surveillance footage, and a picture of the note left behind by the kidnapper. He scratched his head in puzzlement. John pulled a marker out of a cup from the desk.

_Suspects:_

_Moriarty_

The blogger stepped back, not being able to name any other person who would be willing to forcibly take the detective. He made a mental list of all the people he and Sherlock were frequently acquainted with, _Molly, Lestrade… Mycroft. _John's face turned red and his hands formed into tight fists. _Why isn't his own bloody brother, a man who is literally the British government, working to find him? Lestrade and I have been running circles while he does nothing! What happened to the caring brother? _With this he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

**Are you aware your brother has been missing for almost two days? JW**

There was a few seconds before his cell vibrated with a reply.

**Yes, I am aware of my brother's disappearance. MH**

**Well aren't you going to do something about it? JW**

**I am very busy you know. Isn't this the job of the police? MH**

**You are the bloody government and you can't be bothered to help find you missing brother? JW**

**I hold a minor position in the British government. And he will turn up. MH**

**I thought you were the concerned older brother, now he is missing of all things and you don't seem effected. JW**

**I can assure you it has taken a toll on me. MH**

The blond screamed and threw his battered phone at the yellow face on the wall.

**Author's note: sorry I know this was really short but I thought I should wait to see what you have to say before I write any more. So please let me know how I should write chapter seven. As always your voice is much appreciated and thank you to all of my supporters. Oh and I just want to say I really love Mycroft, but this chapter had to play out this way, 3 to our favorite British government official. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: hi. So I don't know why I'm in a writing mood, I mean I just spent like three and a half hours writing a research paper on the death penalty. I guess all that capital punishment and the leak from a friend who wasn't supposed to spoil season three for me put me in a bit of a Sherlock mood. This chapter will be narrated from Sherlock's POV, starting from the night before chapter one, and so on. Thank you to all my continued supporters and for those of you who are just reading it. I mean I have never dreamed I would have 1,306 views as of me writing this. You all rock. Please enjoy. **

The quiet raddling at his bedroom door woke the previously sleeping Sherlock Holmes. Upset about having to leave his beautiful mind palace, he turned over to face away from the source and with a tired grunt that could just barely translate into English he said, "John, it's so early. What do you want?" it was unusual for Sherlock to be awakened by John. It was always the other way around actually. This peculiarity and the lack of a response called for Sherlock's full attention, one that could really only be obtained if he rolled over to face him, and tried to stay awake.

With one sharp turn of his body, the detective found himself face to face with a bright hall light, the dark silhouette of a man in the center. Immediately he noticed something was off. The man in his door was of a larger build than his relatively small flat mate. Much taller too.

"Come with me." The voice of the man didn't sound threatening, but intimidating none the less. It was all so unfamiliar, so, new.

"And why should I?" a small smile creped across his face, _finally, something exiting. _Treating the shadow man in his doorway and the invitation to join him like a game of twisted nature, he sat up and waited for a response he wouldn't find dull.

"Because you will regret it if you don't" he didn't step any closer.

"Why is that? How do you know I'm stupid enough to follow you, possibly to my doom? I have been on this same path before you know." The very childish looking Sherlock was almost bouncing with anticipation.

The shadow man pulled a gun out his back pocket. "This is why." Even with the barrel of the gun so close he could see right down it, the dark haired man seemed unfazed.

"Do you think I am afraid of that, I bet it isn't even loaded?" He stood up. Still unable to make out the details of the man's face,

"No, but I bet you won't have the same attitude when this is aimed elsewhere"

"Like where―" he didn't finish his sentence before he realized who this man was talking about. In the room just down the hall, the short blond blogger that he shared a flat with. "So that's how." The grin that embellished his face now turned to defeat. He couldn't let his carelessness and love of the game get John killed. "I surrender." Sherlock looked down at his feet.

"Get dressed. Grab you coat. Then meet be by the front door." The directions were spoken in monotone, no fluctuation in his almost inhuman sounding voice. Sherlock obediently did as he was asked, quickly removing his pajamas and replacing them with his normal suit. Putting on his long black coat, and securing a scarf around his neck he made his way to the front of the flat. "Hands behind your back" the commands were getting stranger, but he followed them nonetheless. The shadow man, now masked clip cold metal hand cuffs onto the detective's pale wrists. "Go to the van." He opened the door, slightly shoving him outside into the night. The van parked in front of Sherlock was black, and relatively new. It reminded him a bit of a swat car. He stood just a few feet from it. Most kidnappers would have stowed him way in the back, but this one opened the passenger side door and gestured for Sherlock to get in. Everything about his kidnapping was off.

The van pulled away, screeching slightly. It drove for close to an hour before stopping in front of a huge building. "Where are we?" the consulting detective questioned.

"You know." The kidnapper answered.

**Author's Note: hope you liked it. Thanks for reading. Please review. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: hey, so chapter eight. Woo hoo. Hum, this chapter, the narration is back to normal. Yeah. If any of you have a Tumblr, and are looking for a multifandom blog, check out cottoncandywalrus. Here's the story. Enjoy. This will probably only be a nine chapter story, maybe. I have the ending to wrap up and then it should be done. **

With a sigh, the blogger walked over to the sofa and plopped down on it. He looked at his phone, screen now cracked, he looked up at the wall. The yellow face had a reasonable sized hole in it. "oh great" he mumbled under him breath. The odds of Sherlock's survival were growing smaller with every passing hour. It had been over twenty four hours, in most cases, the kidnapped would have already been dead by now. And Sherlock was very arrogant and aggravating, the kidnapper must have been up to his wits by now. That thought caused a stabbing pain to fly through John's chest, what if he was already.

The blogger ripped the photo copy of the note left off the board with great force. 'He will be dead before you even figure me out'. John, the ex-army doctor, had no doubt in his mind that was true. He had seen his share of sinister men, coldhearted and ruthless men, all absolutely willing to kill.

Lestrade tried for the tenth time to track the detective. He tried the GPS on his cell, he tried tracking the van, even hanging missing posters around London. But it was no use, he couldn't find any clues leading to catching Sherlock's kidnapper. It had been close to three days and there was still no sign. He was beginning to lose hope.

He put his head down in his hands. It had been days since he slept. There were dark bags under his eyes. He tugged off his tie and discarded it on the floor. Bundling his coat into a ball he used it as a makeshift pillow, resting his head on it. "We'll find ya Sherlock"

**Author's note: sorry this is short. I wanted to have one more chapter before the end. But I have the next chapter up too so hopefully it won't be too bad. Please review. **


	9. Chapter 9

There was a noise. Subtle, quiet. A cab pulled up on the side of the road. One man exited it.

It was almost three in the morning, John Watson lay very silently on his bed. Though he was asleep, his ears were still open for any clues, any signs that danger may be approaching. The sound may have been low, and undeniably ordinary, but it was enough. It took one swift motion for the blogger to spring up and lean on his closed door.

The smooth wood was cool on the side of his face as he listened in for the next hint. There was a click, like the muffled sound of someone unbolting a door. Then a creek followed by soft footsteps going up the stairs. He pushed gently on the knob, forcing an opening just large enough for him to squeeze through. He held out his gun defensively. The flat was dark and John had a hard time navigating his way down to the common room.

===  
There was a crash, followed by a low grunt.

Due to the fact his position was already compromised, the man switched on the lights. There in the arm chair was a man. His hair was dark and his skin was pale. John's eyes widened as he looked at the curly haired detective sitting across from him.

"Hello John."

"Sherlock?"

"Who else, John?" his tone was a mix between annoyed and bored.

"Where have you been?"

"Around" John rolled his eyes, "I'm a bit disappointed, not really surprised though. I expected this from Graham, but I thought you better than this. An ex-army doctor, decently intelligent, and have inhabited the same flat as me for a year. Yet I go missing and you can't find me?"

The surprise on the blonde's face quickly morphed to anger, "Greg." He said through gritted teeth.

"Whatever"

"So this is just one of your sick games?"

"Not at all. It's merely research, don't be so mellow dramatic, John. And the credit doesn't go to me. Believe me I was just as surprised as you."

"Why is it that I have a hard time believing that?"

"Because you have trust issues, John."

"If it wasn't your doing, than who's responsible for it?"

"Mycroft." Sherlock implied it was obvious but it just made John's ears a shade or two redder.

"So your brother kidnapped you?!"

"Yes, indirectly of course."

"Why?" he was practically screaming now.

"To see how inadequate the police would be in my absence. I wasn't aware of his intentions until after I was abducted though." He got up and went to the couch next to John who was still standing. "He hired a Hench Man."

"And you went with him?"

"It's the thrill of the game" he left out the part about the man threatening John's life. Sherlock unclasped his violin case and slid a shoulder rest over the instrument. Using the newly rosined bow Sherlock zipped across the strings. John shook his head and turned to go back to his bed. "Leave it to Sherlock Holmes." He mumbled under his breath.

**Author's Note: thank you so much for reading. All of you rock and I hope you liked this fic. Thanks to professor haley and watlocked for being constant supporters. If you all have a suggestion let me know. Please review. **


End file.
